


Awake

by pierrette



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrette/pseuds/pierrette
Summary: It's all just part of her lifestyle after all, isn't it?
Relationships: George Howard/Charlotte Wells
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Awake

How long has it been? The sky, peeping through the heavy drapes at the sash windows, is a dull grey. That could be any time in the morning in London. Slowly, little by little, she turns her head. Sir George lies next to her, mouth agape and snoring. Stinking. 

She closes her eyes. She can’t look at him. 

How long has it been? Her hands find her stomach. Her fingers trace her soft belly, rounded slightly from the good food. It may as well have been pig slop last night. It’s still sore. She flinches as her fingers press on the bruise where his fist made contact. She’d been winded, hadn’t realized what was happening.  
It was her fault She antagonized him. She shouldn’t have told him she was leaving. She shouldn’t have opened her trap. Beautiful fool, my fucking boot.  
She rolls over carefully, curling her legs up into a fetal position. How long has it been? Don’t wake him. Not now. Gingerly, she reaches down between her legs, running her fingers over her vagina lips. They don’t feel different. His rutting had been more furious. But it had been just that. A rutting. So why hadn’t she slept yet?

Charlotte hadn’t cried at twelve, when Lord Repton – when the Lady –  
She hadn’t cried when she went with Devlin and he’d beat her breasts until they were covered with his handprints. So why now is she crying? 

How long has it been now? Any moment now, he’ll wake. His ridiculous whine will fill the air as he begs, “Charlotte –“ she hates how he drags out the syllables of her name – “Charlotte, my snake must find it’s cave.” And if she pretends to sleep, he’ll pinch her nipple until she awakes, crush it beneath his fingers until she stirs, when he will withdraw his hand and repeat his churlish whinge. And she will be obliged to climb above him, to breathily say, “There is a warm home waiting, my Lord, to be filled.” And she’ll bat her lashes and swallow him, suck and squeeze until he is dry and her mouth is coated in his slime. And then he’ll push her off and she’ll flounce to the easy chair in the corner and throw herself petulantly down, and refuse to look at him until he whines that he didn’t mean to be rude, to please come on, that he will pleasure her with his rod of bliss, and she will come back to the bed and allow herself to be fucked before breakfast. She can’t count the times that Haxby has seen her mid rutting, her fake moans of desire echoing round the house. She can’t count the times she’s seen his lips curl in a sneer at her lewd behaviour. She hates them both.

How long has it been? Raindrops hit the window, and Charlotte wills them silent, lest they wake the beast. They spatter ever harder and Charlotte bites her lip. Why would the weather listen when no human will? 

They’d laughed at her when she told them. She shouldn’t have said it. She should have shut her trap. Part her legs, but not shut her mouth. She raises her hands to rub her eyes, but the sight of fingertip bruises at her wrists make her lower them below the covers again. And the women, their disgusted pity was worse. Charlotte’s cheeks had burned. Can a harlot be raped? 

How long has it been? The tears are dry, their tracks disappearing from her alabaster cheeks. Her eyes are still rimmed red with a night of no sleep.  
It weren’t rape at all. 

Or if it was, she’s the only one who cares.


End file.
